He prepared it for her, slicing the biscuit in half and drizzling each open face with a honey spiral. He gave her one half and left the other on the plate within easy reach before he returned to the bed. “Is it the city you miss, Fiona? Or the activity? The stage? Or the purpose?”
She said nothing.
“I ask because I haven’t been aware that you have an interest in learning about Twin Star. You don’t come to the corral when we’re breaking horses or ask after a mare when I’ve told you about a difficult birth. I think you know the names of the hands but not how many head of cattle we’re raising or the boundaries of the property. You know the road back and forth to town well enough, but I don’t think you could find Boxer’s Ridge with a map. It’s less than three miles from here. You could walk. See a lot from up there.”
Fiona waited to hear if there was more. There wasn’t. Not at the moment. “It’s only now beginning to feel like any spring I’ve ever known. It was snowing the day we arrived. Remember? It was beautiful. And then it went on. And on. There were breaks in the weather. I learned to drive a buggy during one of those thaws, not that there were many opportunities to go anywhere. You didn’t seem to like me out of your sight. You didn’t seem to want me out of your bed.”
“Our bed.”
She smiled a bit ruefully. “Yes. Our bed. My activity and purpose.”
“That’s not true. That’s not how I see it.”
Fiona set the biscuit aside. She had not taken a bite. “Then fix it, Thaddeus, because that’s how I see it.”
• • •
Remington’s head rested in the cradle of his palms. He had been awake for a while with nothing to do except stare at the cabin’s rough ceiling. It had stopped raining sometime during the night, and the roof had stopped leaking sometime after that. He thought the silence was probably what had awakened him. The fire was gone except for embers. He could reach the short stack of logs but not add one to the stove without sitting up. Movement like that would have disturbed Phoebe, and he was loath to wake her.
She was lying flush to him, one knee drawn up and resting over his thighs. Her breath came softly and easily. When she stirred, her chin rubbed pleasantly against his chest. He wanted to sift through her hair with his fingertips, but hewould have to lift his head and unclasp his hands. He did not want to do that either. He wanted to stay just this way. It was perfect.
Phoebe Apple was going to be his wife. He had it from her own lips that she wanted to be. There had been no declaration of love by either of them. Was it understood, then? Or had she no expectation of it existing? That disturbed him some. Alexandra had harbored no doubts that she was loved. He wasn’t sure that was true of Phoebe. He wasn’t entirely sure that she loved him.
There were realities in the light of day that he wished could be shadowed by an overcast sky, maybe some thunder to roar over his thoughts.
“You’re awake,” she said. She did not lift her head or raise her eyelids, but she did use the arm lying across his chest to give him a small squeeze. “You know how I know?”
“How?”
“You think louder than any man I know.” She felt the rumble of his laughter against the soft underside of her arm. “Do you want to tell me?”
“No.”
“All right. I’ve been thinking, too. I bet you couldn’t tell.”
“I couldn’t.”
“That’s because I whisper-think.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I like kissing you, and I like you kissing me. It’s all right to think about that, isn’t it?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, do you think about it?”
“I wasn’t just then, but I’m thinking about it now.” He felt her nod but sensed more distraction in it than encouragement. There was more she wanted to say, and he waited to hear it.
“I don’t have much experience with kissing, not any really, except with you. You probably find that odd, since I told you I wasn’t a virgin, and now you know I was telling the truth.”
“I knew it was truth because you told me it was.”
“You are the first man who’s ever kissed me on the mouth. Do you believe that?”
“If you say so, I do.”
“It’s true. It will be a shame if I look out the window this morning and see that the smokehouse has been washed away. I had begun to think of it as a monument to my first kiss.”
